


Bloody Sunday

by egocentrifuge



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: GTA AU, Gen, not violent but involves tending to wounds, sadist lawrence, suggestion of vore, that's probably what I should have led with huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egocentrifuge/pseuds/egocentrifuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stitches are slow, meticulous—nothing like Adam’s deft work. The adrenaline starts wearing off somewhere after the eighth stitch and James finds himself clenching and unclenching his fists to keep flinching away from Lawrence’s touch. Still, Lawrence works on, eyes and hands never wavering.</p><p>“Are you hard?” James rasps after the tenth stitch, too dizzy from endorphins and blood loss to second-guess the question. </p><p>Lawrence’s throat bobs as he swallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Sunday

At first James thinks it’s just Lawrence trying to get back on Adam’s good side. He’s always in with the others when they need patching up, always keeping an eye on proceedings as he jokes with Adam and finds ways to take their minds off the injuries. He’s always attentive to their needs after a firefight, as well—fetching drinks, laptops, even offering beside vigils to anyone who’s particularly shaken up.

After a while, though, James starts to realize that it’s something else. Something… more sinister, if he’s still allowed to find things sinister after becoming a bona fide gangster. Lawrence’s eyes linger just a bit too long when he watches Adam stitch them back together, gleam just a little too brightly when he sees them wince. It’s not precisely a problem, but it still makes James think. And because he’s always one for poking at a sore spot, it isn’t long before he corners Lawrence after a dubiously successful job.

“Hey, James,” Lawrence says automatically, looking up from the gun he’s cleaning. His eyes are drawn to the cut in James’ side immediately. “You should get that checked out.”

“Nah,” James says. “I thought I’d leave it for a while.”

Lawrence quirks an eyebrow and drags his eyes from the bloody wound to James’ face. “Why’s that?”

James shrugs. “It’s not too deep,” he offers. “And going to Adam seems a bit too final, y'know?”

“How so?” Lawrence asks. He’s sitting up, now, and he’s abandoned the gun, which seems promising.

“Adam will stitch me up, put a bandage on it.” James crouches, and god if it doesn’t hurt, but it’s worth it to see Lawrence track the injury. “Puts an end to the fun.”

“What,” Lawrence starts. His voice cracks, and he clears his throat and tries again. “What kind of fun can a wound be?”

James tilts his head to the side. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Lawrence’s eyes darken as his pupils dilate and he looks back to James’ face.

“I could, I could stitch it up for you,” he offers. “Grab some gloves from Adam, a needle.”

James smiles slowly. “Sounds good.”

Adam ends up ceding his makeshift infirmary to Lawrence and James, because of course he hasn’t slept since they finalized their heist plans, and obviously James hadn’t told him about the knife wound. It puts James at ease that he’s laying back on a sterile table and not the sofa as Lawrence looms over him, and that Lawrence has the proper tools at his disposal and not a stapler.

“Have you done this before?” he asks. Lawrence doesn’t look up from where he’s zeroed in on the wound.

“Not on a friendly.”

James sorts through what this means and shudders once, involuntarily. Lawrence addresses his next question to the gash.

“Do you want a local anesthetic?”

James weighs the pros and cons of this before shaking his head.

“No,” he says. “I trust you.”

Lawrence’s sigh is shaky as he reaches out gloved hands to pinch the sides of the wound together. It hurts, of course it fucking does, but James is more interested in watching the way Lawrence bites his lips rather than the feeling of the needle entering his skin. The perfume of blood creeps through the stench of alcohol as the clotting wound starts to bleed again.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Lawrence says as he pulls the thread through. James exhales slowly as he accepts the strange sensation but doesn’t look away from Lawrence’s face.

He looks enraptured.

The stitches are slow, meticulous—nothing like Adam’s deft work. The adrenaline starts wearing off somewhere after the eighth stitch and James finds himself clenching and unclenching his fists to keep flinching away from Lawrence’s touch. Still, Lawrence works on, eyes and hands never wavering.

“Are you hard?” James rasps after the tenth stitch, too dizzy from endorphins and blood loss to second-guess the question. 

Lawrence’s throat bobs as he swallows. 

“Obviously,” he says simply, plainly. “If you had more blood to spare I’d ask you the same thing,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lawrence ties off the eleventh stitch and digs the needle back in. “You’re the one who asked for this,” he points out. “You approached me.”

James doesn’t know how to answer that, so he blows out another deep breath to mellow the pain.

“You wanted to see it,” Lawrence continues, still not looking up. “You wanted to know what it was like to see someone who got off on the injury so you could confirm you didn’t.”

James finally recoils as the needles digs in again and gets a firm hand on his hip for the mistake. Lawrence pulls the needle through, knots the stitch, and cuts off the string before flicking his eyes to James’.

“You don’t mind the pain,” Lawrence continues. “Causing it or suffering it. But you’re worried you’re in this line of work because you’re a freak, a sadist, someone who gets off on the killing.”

James watches, transfixed, as Lawrence brings up one hand to his mouth and tears the glove off with his teeth. There’s blood on his lips when he next speaks—James’ blood.

“You’re not a monster, James,” Lawrence says softly. “But you’re drawn to them.”

James inhales and can taste the blood as Lawrence leans in, bracing his naked hand on the table beside James’ head. The other hand, the hand still gloved and slick with blood, he brings up to touch James’ lips. It feels natural to open his mouth, to let Lawrence stroke the taste of iron along his tongue.

“You trust Adam to put you back together,” Lawrence whispers, leaning close. “But you trust me to take your enemies apart.”

His fingers withdraw. James is left with the taste of blood thick on his tongue and Lawrence’s breath a memory on his face.

“I trust you,” he says again, then props himself up on his elbows to look at Lawrence dip those spit-slick fingers into his own mouth. “I trust you to take me apart.”

Lawrence’s gaze burns as he stands up, turns.

“I’d reconsider that trust,” he recommends. His voice is rough.

“I’m not afraid of you, Lawrence.”

He doesn’t get a response, as Lawrence pushes out of the infirmary without another word. James sits up with a wince, but when he looks down, the stitches are neat and just as surgical as Adam’s. He catches sight of a discarded surgical glove on the table and huffs out a laugh.

Lawrence had kept the other one on.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at egocentrifuge.tumblr.com


End file.
